


Say No to Mollycoddling

by gin_tonic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Snarry-A-Thon Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-26
Updated: 2012-06-26
Packaged: 2017-11-08 14:39:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gin_tonic/pseuds/gin_tonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has been cursed, but he doesn't want to involve Ron and Hermione into his mess again. In the end, there is only one person who can help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say No to Mollycoddling

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt:"Harry has been cursed by a rogue Death Eater and he’s invisible (or turning into one). Snape and his potion/dark magic -expertise to the rescue. Somewhere along the way of making Harry visible again love ensues."
> 
> Many, many thanks to my wonderful beta angela_snape!

 

It didn't happen when Harry was brought to St. Mungo's, nor when he woke up the day after or when, two days later, he was finally allowed to go home. It happened when Harry thought that the effects of the curse he'd been hit with during his latest Auror mission were gone, when he was in his boxers in front of the mirror and he saw a weird, reddish dot on his stomach. He looked closer and saw that there was nothing red _on_ his skin. His skin wasn't even visible and the red that he saw was his blood pumping underneath. The toothbrush fell from his hand and clattered on the floor, toothpaste spattering everywhere as Harry stumbled backwards. He clawed at his stomach, trying to hold his skin together, afraid to bleed out from the wound that was no wound. No hole, no injury, just transparency was what he found when his fingers connected with his skin.

"What the –?!"

 

******

  


He couldn't go back to St. Mungo's – he had already been stabbed and prodded more times than necessary, just because his notoriety made everyone more curious than they had a right to be. If he turned up with something like _this_ – whatever this was – they would turn him into their lab rat. He was already enough of a freak show, he didn't need anything added to the list of why people thought he was special. Not to mention that being hospitalised until someone found out what was wrong with him would endanger his job. For some reason the bad guys really liked to use Harry as target practice and, despite the fact that Harry had dodged more curses than his co-Aurors and had arrested his fair share of criminals, his superiors only saw his record sheet of time spent unconscious and/or in hospital. No, he had to keep this a secret. He would find out what was wrong with him and he'd deal with it.

Taking deep breaths to calm himself down, Harry walked into his small library. Grimmauld Place was still under construction. The life of an Auror didn't leave much time for renovations and his general mistrust of people caused him to want to do everything by himself instead of letting strangers roam through Sirius' old place. He had moved most of the books found in Grimmauld Place into his new flat. Only those who wouldn't budge or those too dangerous or too dark to be brought anywhere else still remained in the old library.

Hermione had insisted on sorting through the books and sorting them first by topic and then alphabetically. At times like these, Harry found his love for her growing exponentially. He thought about calling her and Ron to help, but couldn't bring himself to involve them just yet. It was his body that was affected; his problem, and he had to at least try to deal with this alone. Harry lifted his shirt and cast another glance at the nothing on his stomach before pulling out the first book. An hour later he concluded that _Magical Maladies_ didn't cover his affliction or anything remotely similar. Five hours later he was quite sure that whatever he had definitely didn't belong in the realm of 'common' magical diseases.

 

******

  


The chime of the Floo woke Harry up the next morning and he jerked upright from his crooked position at the table. Harry peeled off the page that had stuck to his cheek and dragged himself over to the Floo, where Ron's head was already waiting for him.

"You look like shit, mate," Ron greeted him. Harry gave him a two-fingered salute. "I guess it's a good thing the healer forced you to accept the week on sick-leave."

Harry shrugged. "Guess so."

Ron frowned at that. "I never heard you agree with a healer before. Are you sure you're all right? Do you want me to come over and bring you to St. Mungo's?" Harry just gave Ron a look. Ron knew full well how much Harry loathed hospitals and infirmaries. But seeing as yesterday's research had been completely unsuccessful, Harry decided it might not be a bad idea to play along at least a bit.

"I'm okay, just tired. The curse just got me real good – a few days' rest and I'll be fine."

"I never heard you opting for rest, either."

"There are first times for everything. Just don't tell anyone; I wouldn't want my street-cred to be ruined."

Ron snorted. "You don't have any street-cred." Harry stuck out his tongue and added a long yawn. "But it does look like you could use some rest. I'll let you get to it – just wanted to check up on you."

"Tell Hermione I'm okay."

Ron mock-saluted, told Harry to go to bed and soon had vanished from the fireplace. Harry got up and stretched slowly, then shuffled to the kitchen to fix himself a good, strong pot of tea. He hadn't even gone through a quarter of the Blacks' books on magical illnesses and curses yesterday and he would have a mountain of work for today. Despite that, he had the foreboding feeling that he would come up empty-handed again.

Waiting for the water to boil, Harry lifted his shirt and checked on his spot. He pretended that his hand didn't tremble when he discovered that the transparent part had grown. Hesitantly, he touched it. It still felt like his skin, wasn't cool to the touch like he had expected, wasn't numb. Just invisible. But for some reason the fact that he still felt so normal made the whole thing scarier than it already was.

 

******

  


As his sick leave drew to a close and Harry was nowhere closer to an answer, he knew he had to go about this differently. If he couldn't find out anything on what was happening to him through even the most obscure books of the Black collection, maybe he needed to find out what he could about the caster of the spell. Maybe that way he would learn more about the curse cast on him and maybe he would be able to find the curse in the dark books left in Grimmauld Place.

He started by writing down everything he remembered about the day he was cursed. The guy who had cursed him just before being arrested had looked average, forgettable, but Harry was sure he'd never seen him before. His name was Ian MacAllister and there was nothing special about him apart from the fact that he had managed to curse Harry. Harry and Ron, as well as another Auror team, had gone to bust a meeting of low-level blood-purists who had been suspects in a hate-crime case. A Muggle-born had been found badly cursed near Diagon Alley a couple of days prior to the arrest and spell-trackers had led the Aurors back to the group. They hadn't expected much resistance – Harry remembered getting info on their spell-casting abilities that had been less than seriously threatening. He also remembered complaining that using Hogwarts' O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. results as a basis for the analysis was probably not a good idea. Well. Now at least he had proof to underline his argument.

Fact was, they had split up to chase after the suspects. Harry already had his perpetrator cornered when he'd been cursed. The why and the how were still completely fuzzy and Harry doubted that he would ever get the memories back. Had he ignored old Moody's warnings? Had he forgotten about _Constant vigilance!_? He'd woken up in St. Mungo's and Ron had told him that they had the bloke in custody. Apparently Harry had managed to cast a binding spell before losing consciousness. Harry had no recollection of any of that.

 

******

  


Harry studied the dot on his stomach that wasn't so little anymore. He'd tried to cover it with a Band-Aid, but it wasn't enough anymore. The dot was now a patch and he could see his insides through his invisible skin. The top layer of veins and blood vessels had already become invisible and he could see his stomach moving whenever he was eating something. To say that it was freaking him out was an understatement – it took all he had not to dash to the toilet and puke his guts out. Yet a perverse part of him wondered how long it would take till he would be able to see all the way through his body, see through his back.

Heavily, Harry sat down on the edge of the bathtub and tried to take deep breaths to calm himself down. It couldn't go on like this. He needed to find a cure for this soon. Or maybe he'd become completely invisible.

 

******

  


On his first day back at work Harry was on desk duty – a task he usually resented, but today it suited him just fine. He had sent a request to speak to the perpetrator, but didn't know if it would go through. To make sure he got at least _something_ , Harry used his desk duty to order a background check on MacAllister and request all files they had on similar cases. He also asked Millicent Bulstrode, who worked in the research department and still owed Harry a favour, to give him a list of experts on invisibility and vanishing spells and keep it between them. After lunch Harry had everything – the refusal to see MacAllister, the background report and his list.

The report told Harry very few things that were new. There really wasn't anything remarkable about MacAllister. No rumoured associations to known criminals, nothing unusual about his life. He paid his taxes regularly, never was involved in any crime before and already had requested an attorney.

Harry put the report aside and sighed. He had hoped for at least something, some clue that would maybe lead him to someone who knew what the fuck was going on. Maybe MacAllister had gotten lucky with the curse. Maybe he'd done the same thing Harry had during sixth year, when he'd used Sectumsempra on Draco Malfoy without knowing what kind of spell he was actually using. Whatever the answer was, Harry knew he couldn't ask him.

He grabbed the list of experts next. If there was no one on there who could help him, he was fucked. He scanned the list, feeling overwhelmed by all the names – could he really trust a stranger with a problem as peculiar and dangerous as this was? – until his eyes fell on a name that was painfully familiar.

  
_Severus Snape_   


Millicent had put a star behind his name. At first Harry thought that it was her equivalent of a heart; that she carried a torch for her old head of house. But then he spotted a note at the bottom that was prefixed by the same star.

  
_'Whatever you need an expert for, see Snape.'_   


Harry didn't need to think about it twice – Millicent was right. The past had shown that he could trust Snape. And compared to all the strangers, Snape was definitely the best option here. No matter how much the animosity between the two of them still flared up whenever they saw each other. Though, to be fair, it was usually Harry who said 'Hi' and Snape who replied with an insult. Which Harry then returned. During the Ministry Christmas party two years ago they had nearly come to blows, drunk as they had been. It had been Draco who had pulled them apart. He also had yelled at them for having unresolved sexual tension – as if! – and had stormed off afterwards, but then again he had been completely plastered because he had _tried_ to out-drink Charlie Weasley because he had the hots for him.

Harry shook himself and checked his watch. Two more hours of shuffling paper around and looking busy, then he could go visit Snape.

 

******

  


Snape had, true to everyone's expectations, opened a little Potions shop after recuperating from the injuries he'd received during the war. But the shop, in true Snape-fashion, was tucked into in a far corner of Diagon Alley where only few people walked past and it looked as unwelcoming as a shop could look. The chime on the door sounded more morose than cheerful and inside a weird smell hung in the air that reminded Harry of unpleasant hours spent in the Potions classroom. A small grin flitted across Harry's face. Snape's almost aggressive attempts to ward himself against common customers were hilarious. But it seemed effective, as there was no one in the shop and Harry was sure that only Potions experts would come here – and certainly they wouldn't dawdle or leisurely peruse the shelves.

"What do you want?" Snape snarled from another room and Harry was sure that was his customary greeting for everyone who aggravated the door's chime.

Harry opted for honesty. "Help, actually." Snape shot into the shop's main room and stared at Harry. Harry had always known how to get Snape to feel flustered.

"You."

"Yes, me."

Snape narrowed his eyes at Harry and Harry waited – not that there was much else that he could do. He had to try and behave if he wanted Snape to help.

"Talk."

Harry exhaled slowly, glad that Snape gave him a chance to tell his tale before kicking him out (not that he wouldn't come back – but still), and launched into the explanation. The further he got with his tale, the more Snape frowned. Just before the big finale – the reveal, so to say – Harry spelled the doors shut. Only then did he lift his shirt. Snape's eyebrows briefly climbed up towards his hairline before sinking back down into a dark expression.

"It doesn't look good, does it?" Harry asked.

"No, it doesn't."

"So I'll become invisible?

"At least, but I suspect worse." He started walking towards the backroom. "Follow me."

"So you're going to help?"

Snape gave Harry a look to tell him how stupid he found the question. He motioned for Harry to sit on one of the workbenches and Harry hopped onto it, ignoring the suspicious looking stains.

"Show me."

Harry hesitated for a second – it was one thing to show Snape, but something completely different to let him study it – then lifted his shirt. He forced himself to look to the side – firstly, because he didn't need to see his entrails again and secondly, because he didn't want to see Snape's face when he laid eyes on the mess below. Harry wasn't sure how exactly he expected Snape to react, but, whether it was disgust, shock or resignation, he knew he didn't want to see or know. He felt Snape's magic as he ran diagnostic spells over him, felt the proximity of the wand to his skin, air moving when Snape let it twitch. Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on that.

Snape's voice snapped him out of his trance-like state. "It's never easy with you, is it?"

Harry shrugged, still not looking at Snape. "Easy is for boring people."

Snape snorted at that. "I will have to do some more research."

"So you don't know what it is." Harry hated the neediness and desperation in his voice, but he couldn't help it. He was only this short from begging. Or dying, possibly.

"I have an inkling. I will have to confirm my suspicions, though."

"Meaning you might have a cure?"

Snape sighed and shook his head. "I didn't say that. I said I might know what it is." He pursed his lips and checked on a pocket watch that he took from his waistcoat, while he considered _something_ for a few moments. "Go and close the shop."

Harry blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Make yourself useful while I try to save your sorry hide! Go, lock the door to the shop and mop the floor – by hand. Using magic near so many volatile ingredients would blow up the whole building." Snape swept out of the room with that, leaving Harry speechless and a little bit confused. He heard steps on a staircase somewhere nearby and assumed that Snape had gone upstairs to – well, whatever was upstairs.

 

******

  


He'd been scrubbing at a particular stain for at least five solid minutes when he noticed something shifting at the edge of his vision. He turned his head and watched his finger slowly become invisible. There was no wound, no indication of trauma. It was just gone. Feeling numb, Harry wiggled his fingers, reached with his other hand to touch each and found his finger. It was still where it was supposed to be – or at least he felt that it was there, even if he didn't see it.

Then, suddenly, he exploded: "Snape!" Thundering steps came down the stairs and there was Snape, looming over him with an expression that was caught between rage and concern. Harry held up his hand. "Look."

Snape narrowed his eyes and nodded. "So it's progressing."

Harry was on his feet in an instant. "That's all? That's how you react when I show you that one of my fingers has vanished?!"

Snape gave him one of his best sneers and said: "What would you have me do? Mollycoddle you? If you wanted that you could've gone to one of my _esteemed_ colleagues. I don't do mollycoddling, I don't do nice and I certainly won't pity you when you got yourself into this mess by throwing yourself into the wrong end of a curse."

"I was doing my job!"

"Temper, Potter. You _chose_ your profession, therefore you _chose_ to be at the wrong end of curses."

"I –"

"I don't care." Snape waved his hand and turned around, walking back to where he'd come from. "Fact is, nothing can be done about this right now. Come back tomorrow morning; I'll hopefully have an answer by then."

"Why didn't you tell me that an hour ago?" Harry groused, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Snape smirked. "Because the floor needed scrubbing."

 

******

  


Harry came into Snape's shop the next morning as he'd been told. Snape looked as fresh and awake as Snape could probably look and stood in stark contrast to how Harry felt. He'd been unable to sleep and told Snape so, but Snape seemed unimpressed.

"Do you know, then, what kind of curse is doing this to me?"

Snape nodded slowly. "First of all, it is a hex and a pretty well-cast, nasty one at that. It is also a rarer version of a hex, not that easy to find."

"But you did."

"Yes. But so did your attacker, meaning that this criminal isn't just your garden variety Dark Arts fanatic."

Harry gave him a look. That same description fit Snape just as well – and probably Harry, too. After all, they both had pretty good collections of rare Dark Arts books. Not that Harry had ever seen Snape's collection, but he would have loved to take a peek… Harry shook himself. "Could also mean that he just stumbled across the hex and used it without knowing what it was." Harry was sure Snape got the reference, but thankfully he didn't comment. "What does this mean for me, then?"

Snape looked a bit uncomfortable. Or maybe gleeful – Harry wasn't completely sure. "I will have to extract some samples," Snape said.

"Samples from what?"

"Your skin, of course."

Harry felt a little nausea creeping up on him. He had had enough potion lessons to know what exactly that meant. Snape was going to slice and dice him. "But why? You already know what I got."

"But not how to cure it." Snape started rubbing his forehead as if Harry’s questions gave him a headache. Considering he was about to be used like a Flobberworm, Harry found a bit of poetic justice in this. Gratitude for Snape’s help, though his conscience told him he should feel it, wasn’t exactly high on his list of priorities. "I told you that the curse is rare. And even Longbottom should be able to deduce that this makes the cure even rarer. Especially because people who use the curse usually don’t want anyone else to do anything against its effects."

Well. Talk about things looking dire, Harry thought. "But you think it’s a cure rather than a counter curse?"

Snape nodded. "With hexes like this, hexes that influence and change your whole body, it usually is. Hence the samples."

"Alright." Harry took a deep breath. "What do you need?"

 

******

  


Band-Aids covered the spots where Snape had cut the topmost layers of Harry’s skin. He felt stripped – and not in the good way – and he ached all over. Even if Snape hadn’t taken skin from his hands and stomach, Harry’s hand would have been wrapped in bandages. A little accident with the fireplace, especially in light of his inability to Floo properly, was explainable, a suddenly partly invisible hand wasn’t.

He was still on desk duty at work, which made at least certain things easier (apart from the paperwork, that was still as awful as ever), but it certainly didn’t keep him from thinking too much. He hated having to wait for Snape to come up with results. Sitting around and waiting to be saved wasn't Harry's style by far. He couldn't just sit there and do nothing – he needed to help cure himself. Tonight he would go back to Snape and go read up on the curse himself. Maybe he could think of something to help then. Besides, it certainly wouldn't hurt. If Snape didn't decide that he needed more samples, that was.

 

******

  


Snape hadn't expected his visit, but still let Harry come inside. "I didn't think you would show until I finished my research."

"I brought some Ogden's," Harry said and gave Snape the bottle. Unannounced visits always went best when one came armed with a bottle of alcohol. Barging in on George or Ron and Hermione had taught him that much. Though in the latter case it was Harry who really needed the whiskey to get the image of Ron and Hermione doing it on the couch out of his mind. Harry shrugged at Snape's comment then. "Have you ever known me to just sit around?"

"Always when it counted. When it didn't, you just charged in without thinking."

Harry bit back a hasty comment. "That's not even true. Besides, I need to do something. Do research."

"The books are upstairs," Snape said in lieu of an acknowledgement as he walked towards what seemed to be his lab. "I still have work to do. Try not to fall asleep and drool on the texts."

Harry rolled his eyes and walked up the stairs that Snape had pointed out. The rooms upstairs had a chaotic cosiness about themselves – books were everywhere. In the shelves, stacked on the floor, strewn across the living room table. Décor-wise Snape had stuck with Slytherin-chic: green on the walls and the cushions, dark furniture and Dark Arts books. It was nice, Harry found. He lit up the oil-lamp and got to work.

The books on the curse were still on the table, so Harry grabbed the nearest and started reading. The descriptions were graphic and, due to the nature of these books, quite disgusting. It didn't promise a lot to look forward to.

  
_'The curse itself takes skill and preparation, though the caster does not have to prepare for a specific victim. Should the caster wish to hex several people at the same time, he should be aware that much greater magical force is required. Additionally, it should be kept in mind that after casting the spell the caster will feel weak.'_   


This explained why someone who could cast a hex like that could be stopped and apprehended so quickly.

 

******

  


Three hours later Harry discovered that the invisibility on his fingers had spread to his whole hand. Even though it appeared that the curse's rate of affliction was accelerating, he didn't call out for Snape this time. There was nothing Snape could do at the moment to help him, but to continue working on the potions.

So Harry tried to ignore that he was starting to feel scared and that he felt the curse slowly sucking on his energy, and went back to reading, trying to find something – anything – to help.

Another two hours later a glass of Ogden's was placed right next to the book. Harry looked up, startled. Snape just spared him a brief glance, then moved towards the sofa. The smell of gooey Flobberworms and turtle dung followed him, but Harry managed not to make a face. Instead, he closed the book and took a sip.

"Anything new?"

Snape glanced up. "Yes. You haven't fallen asleep yet."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I thought about taking a nap, but the reading material was so captivating. Must be something about the prospect of fading into nothing while experiencing excruciating pain." He held up the book he was currently reading and tapped his finger on a section of the page.

"Yes, I heard it's a successful motivator."

Harry turned his chair around so he could face Snape. He couldn't remember ever sitting down with the man for a drink. It was a weird feeling to do so now. Even weirder was the following thought that he would like to do it again sometime when death wasn't banging on his door. "So?"

Snape sighed theatrically. "The potions need to simmer for at least twelve hours until I know more."

"You made several? What exactly will they tell you?"

"Which components can be used for the cure."

Harry nodded slowly. As long as Snape saw a chance for him to come out of this alive, he was okay. "I'll come by tomorrow then." Harry emptied his glass, got up and gathered his things. Just when he was nearly out the door, he heard Snape say: "Potter, try not to run into any more curses, will you?"

 

******

  


The next evening, Harry brought curry. Bringing food was nearly as good as bringing alcohol. Not quite, but Harry was hungry and he somehow knew that smelling of curry when visiting Snape and not bringing him any wouldn't go over too well.

"Have you tried talking to the suspect yet?" Snape asked him over dinner, which was consumed on the shop's counter because Snape didn't want Harry eating near his precious books.

"Of course I tried. But they wouldn't let me near him on account that he hexed me and got me hospitalized. And I couldn't very well tell anyone what I wanted to know."

Snape looked up at that and gave Harry a funny look. "I meant to ask why your little friends weren't with you."

"They aren't so little anymore."

Snape snorted. "Yes, I heard about Miss Granger being pregnant."

"Bastard!" Harry couldn't muster the necessary rage for the expression, though. It had been a long day at work and besides, after a while you just got used to Snape's insults. Besides, technically Snape was right – Hermione was pregnant _and_ she had kept her maiden name when she had married Ron.

"So you have said before. It doesn't explain why you haven't told them. I would assume that, had you told them, Miss Granger would be researching with you and Weasley would be with the suspect asking questions."

Trust Snape to ask the uncomfortable questions. "Would it help if they were here?"

"It wouldn't, but you're dodging the question."

Harry pushed his curry away and started moving through the shop. It was hard to explain something that he wasn't quite so sure about himself. Not having to face inquisitive eyes while doing it helped though. "I can't always fall back on them when something is wrong. Especially not when they have enough to worry about themselves."

"Ah, so you're pretending that you're doing them a favour."

Harry raked his hand through his hair and huffed. "No. No, of course not."

"Then what is it?"

"I just wanted to do this on my own. It is my body that is affected, after all. My problem."

"Yet here you are."

Harry whirled around, his arms crossed in front of his chest. "Are you saying that you don't want to help me anymore?"

"I'm saying that you are ridiculous, Potter." Snape pushed back his plate as well and waved his wand, making the remnants of their meal vanish. "Now, is there anything new?"

Still feeling mightily pissed off, Harry shrugged and muttered: "My foot's invisible. You?"

"No need to sulk, Potter." Snape motioned for him to follow him to the lab. "I found most of the ingredients that will make up the cure."

"Most?" Harry asked before they entered the lab.

"Yes. There is one ingredient I'm not quite sure about. I tried out the effects of dried rhododendron, but found it not effective enough. I still haven't found anything more potent, though, and will keep searching."

"Can I help?"

Snape regarded Harry for a minute – a whole minute actually, in which Harry looked around the lab but was wise enough not to touch anything – and finally nodded. "You can read up on the properties of rhododendron and then research what other plants may have the same effects in potions."

"Homework, then?" Harry scoffed.

"I know, not really your forte. But what must, must. In the meantime, I require more samples." Snape picked up a knife and – Harry was quite sure of this – smirked faintly.

 

******

  


That night, when Harry lay in bed and sleep eluded him, he thought back on his time spent at Snape's. It was odd being there and being around Snape and not arguing and yelling all the time. This was mostly because they were both busy trying to figure out what was wrong, but it still made Harry feel… well. A bit weird. For some reason Draco's words at the Ministry Christmas party came back to him – the things Draco had said about sexual tension. Harry shook his head. Of course he felt tension when he was near Snape, but it surely wasn't sexual.

Then he remembered the moment before leaving today, when he'd taken his leave from Snape in the living room. Harry had turned back at the door to say something and for the tiniest fraction of a moment had thought Snape might have been staring at his arse. But that couldn't possibly be true, could it? And with that thought Harry realised that he had never before entertained thoughts of Snape as a sexual being. Suddenly, there was _potential_. Suddenly, every fantasy that Harry had ever had tried out Snape as the main character and Harry found that _he liked it_.

 

******

  


The next day Harry brought Italian and showed off his newly invisible arm. Unfortunately he did so while sitting on a stool while Snape tried out some ingredients on Harry's invisible stomach. And since he had his shirt off when he felt the urge to touch Snape's shoulder to see whether there really was a spark between them or if it had been nothing but a late-night fancy, Snape didn't exactly see the touch coming.

Harry came to lying on the cold floor with a headache roaring between his ears and Snape glaring down at him.

"You shouldn't have done that," Snape said accusingly and did nothing to help Harry up.

"Yeah, I realise that now." Harry groaned and dragged himself back on the stool. "Did you have to hex me, though?"

"Obviously." Snape pursed his lips, then raised his wand and cast diagnostic spells on Harry. "Now I have to check if this affected the curse in any way. You should know better than to accost a former spy."

"I didn't accost you." Harry pouted and he didn't care if Snape saw. Especially since he did feel a spark, just before he felt Snape's hex. Dammit.

"And I told you not to throw yourself in the way of hexes."

"I didn't exactly throw myself."

"As good as."

Harry huffed, but said nothing. For one, because he knew he couldn't win this argument. And because he was busy making a plan. Years ago, just after the war, Harry had made a decision not to let opportunities pass by anymore and not to keep himself from taking chances. Fact was, with so many arseholes out to get him (or maybe not even him, but Aurors or even people in general), he was only too aware how bloody short life could be. Harry had decided not to waste any of it and that was how he now made the plan to see if Snape might be interested in testing out how far the spark between them might take them. He knew that at least Draco would approve (not that Harry lived by that git's standards).

Once Snape was finished – signalled by him nodding and muttering to himself while moving towards the workbench – Harry asked: "Would you hex me if I touch you again?"

"If you sneak up on me, most definitely," Snape answered absentmindedly.

"And if I tell you in advance?" Harry said, slowly moving towards Snape.

Snape looked up. "In advance? What are you talking about?"

"Touching you."

Snape frowned in confusion and looked around, probably to find Harry's arm. "Why would you touch me?"

Harry grinned and decided to go for the coup. "Why wouldn't I?"

Snape's frown deepened. "Go put on your shirt, Potter." Harry drew his hand back that was only inches away from Snape's shoulder. Maybe not today, then. And maybe Harry really _had_ imagined Snape staring at his arse, but that possibility wouldn't keep him from his plan. He'd flirt and if Snape wouldn't flirt back… well, then he wouldn't. Though Harry felt giddy at the thought of seeing Snape flirt.

 

******

  


Keeping things under wraps at work was starting to prove difficult. His colleagues had bought his Floo-accident story, but now he was getting looks for wearing long sleeves when the weather clearly started to call for something like a t-shirt and lighter robes. Usually, Harry was one of the first to greet spring by wearing short sleeves.

From the looks even Ron was giving him, Harry knew it was only a matter of time until Hermione got word that something was up. Maybe he should have involved them, he couldn't help but think. But his reasons not to do it were still the same. Plus, figuring things out with Snape, no matter the direness of the situation, was somehow pleasant. Without the social pressure of Ministry balls and school and without the stupid comments from Ron, Draco and basically anyone else, Harry could finally be himself _and_ concentrate on Snape. Sure, Snape was still a bastard and Harry was still somewhat of a hothead, but Harry found that he liked it. Liked Snape and his wit and his hands. Especially his hands. He couldn't say why or how or what it meant, but if they could maybe keep this up after Harry was okay again… if Harry could come by maybe once or twice a week and they could eat curry or fight over which combat spells were the best… Well. It didn't sound like a bad idea at all.

 

******

  


Still halfway in the arms of sleep, Harry felt for his morning erection. Fantasies flitted through his mind as he began to stroke himself, before he finally settled on something new: he was on his knees, Snape looming over him with his cock out. For a split second he reeled at Snape's appearance, but morning horniness wasn't picky – nor very surprised, since Harry had entertained the idea of him and Snape before. Harry's dick, growing even harder, did like the idea, anyhow.

Dream-Harry ran his tongue over dream-Snape's dick before suckling gently on the tip. He wrapped his invisible hand around Snape's dick, making him jump in surprise and pleasure, then making him moan as he started moving.

Harry imagined Snape's moan to be deep and throaty, and the thought made Harry shiver all over. Snape would be heavy in his mouth, nearly too big to fit and without the help of his invisible hand he would be lost. Heat surged through him as he imagined Snape starting to face-fuck him, hard and desperate. He imagined his head and throat turning invisible just before Snape came. Snape would see himself push frantically – one, twice – as Harry moved his tongue, before spurting down Harry's throat. And he'd see his come, see how Harry swallowed it.

Panting, Harry opened his eyes. He felt boneless and utterly spent, his hand sticky with his own come and his head filled with the question 'What the fuck had just happened?' as well as the knowledge that he really needed to blow Snape.

 

******

  


Harry returned to Snape's with an armload of the Black family books on plants. Trust the Blacks to know their poisons. He gained an approving nod from Snape for bringing them, but took no time to acknowledge it with more than a brief smile before he set to work. He could practically feel how the invisibility took over one hair after another on his head, starting in the back and working towards the front, all the while draining Harry's energy.

Head already buried in the books, Harry remarked: "It's progressing more quickly."

"I can see that," Snape said as he took one of the other books and Harry's stomach turned at the worry he could hear in Snape's voice. He'd heard a lot in Snape's voice in the years Harry had known him – anger, scorn, even pain – but never fear or worry. Without asking, Harry knew that things looked quite a bit dire.

 

 

Harry had nearly fallen asleep when Snape finally jumped up, kicking his chair back in the process, and let out a satisfied and relieved huff. He looked as exhausted as Harry felt, but he had hard work and not a curse that was slowly sucking his life-energy from him to blame.

"So? Did you find a substitute?" Harry asked with a glance at the books the two of them had already excluded before narrowing down the species of the plant they needed.

"Yes. Mezereon. The mezereon berries, to be precise."

Harry sat up straight. "Are they easy to get?"

"The common variety, yes. But we need something a little more special, a little more powerful to counter this spell."

"Where can we find these special berries then?" Harry tucked his wand into his holster and rubbed a hand over his face to try and become more awake. He just needed that final ingredient and he'd be okay. Right as rain, no harm, no foul. Nobody but he and Snape would know.

" _I_ will find them further up on the Northern cliffs." Snape summoned his cloak and put it on in one swift motion.

Harry blinked, trying to understand what he had missed. "What do you mean, _you_?"

"I mean that you are going to park your arse on my couch. You will wait and will not move a muscle until I am back with the berries."

"Bollocks! I'm coming with you."

Snape stepped closer to Harry, crowding him against the back of the couch and trying to stare him into submission. "You are not, Mr Potter. I am quite capable of taking care of things like this on my own, whereas you are not."

"I'm a bloody Auror!" Harry yelled, his hands only inches away from grabbing Snape's robes.

"An Auror who is weakened by a curse that he failed to report because another notch on his sick-leave-and-target-practice belt might get him sacked!"

"You're just afraid –" Snape smashed their lips together, cutting Harry off more than effectively. Harry's lips melted beneath Snape's, opening and drawing Snape's tongue inside. This time Harry's hands _did_ fist Snape's robe, pulling him closer until Snape's leg was between Harry's, until Harry was pressed against Snape and the sofa with nowhere to go. And he didn't want to go, not when there was Snape and his hands and his lips and _every part_ of them was touching.

They broke away from each other, panting. Snape slowly ran his thumb over Harry's halfway invisible face. "Let's get going before your lips vanish, too."

"Bet you could find them even without seeing them," Harry quipped, unable to help himself. This was so much better than flirting.

"I could, but I'd much rather see them."

 

******

  


Snape failed to mention that the cliffs weren't only dangerous because they were fucking slippery, but also because a vicious species of ghoul lived in the caves right next to the water and really didn't like it when humans of any kind came anywhere close. Just bare seconds after their arrival a horrible screeching and banging began, roaring sounded over the cliffs and in the half darkness of the night Harry could see figures moving.

Wand in hand, he stayed close to Snape. "Where are the berries?"

"About seventy feet to our left," Snape shouted over the noise, just before rocks started flying. Harry cast a protection spell, but not before one of them hit his forehead. He gritted his teeth and ignored the pain – what was Auror training for if not this? – before telling Snape to start running. Blood was streaming hot down his face and he could barely see, stumbling around until Snape grabbed his hand and pulled him along.

"Hurry up, Potter!"

Harry heard the ghouls closing in on them – could smell them, actually – when they'd reached the tall shrubs. Snape reached up to gather the berries and Harry cast one of the strongest Blasting hexes – _"Confringo!"_ – that he knew. Then there was Snape's hand on his arm and a pulling sensation and they were gone.

 

******

  


"It's eerie," Snape said as he handed Harry a wet flannel to press against his head-wound.

"What is?" Harry tried not to wince and watched with one eye as Snape carefully cut each berry precisely in two before adding them to the stinking potion.

"Your blood is covering that part of your face that is invisible. Mostly, that is. The effect is eerie." Snape took the flannel from him and checked his wound before wiping away some more of the blood. A non-verbal spell brought him a flask that contained what looked like Essence of Dittany and he carefully applied it to Harry's wound before handing him a light-blue healing draught. Light blue for light pain. Some things were remarkably simple in the Wizarding World.

"Thanks."

"Are you alright?"

Harry shrugged. "I've felt worse."

Snape went back to the potion, cast spells to check temperature and consistency before stirring one, two, three times clockwise and seven times anti-clockwise. Slowly, he extinguished the fire and waited in silence until the potion had stopped hissing. Only then did he cast a light cooling charm, used a copper ladle to fill a glass that he handed Harry. Harry swallowed the whole thing quickly, trying not to breathe in deeply afterwards, because he knew full well that would only intensify the taste.

After swallowing a couple of times, Harry glanced at the glass, then at his still bandaged hand and asked: "How long -?"

"At least six more hours." Snape followed Harry out of the lab and up into his quarters. "So we wait."

Harry hesitated for a moment, not really sure whether or not what he was about to say was the wisest thing to do. But then again, he was known for rash behaviour – and also for sticking with his convictions. "We could do a bit more than wait."

 

******

  


Harry didn't give a fuck about what Snape's bedroom looked like, but the bed was soft and stood in stark contrast to Snape's hard body on top of him. Their kiss was even more searing than the one they had shared before; Harry's legs were around Snape, his hands clutching at Snape's shoulder and fisting his hair.

He could feel the potion working, restoring his energy that immediately went downwards and sped up the motion of his hips. Snape moved from Harry's lips down to Harry's jaw-line, nipped and sucked, then kissed his way down Harry's throat while deft hands opened Harry's robe and shirt.

"Fuck, just use a spell!" Harry panted as his own fingers couldn't open Snape's buttons.

"Impatient, Potter?" Harry felt Snape's smirk against his skin.

"Yes!"

A whispered spell, then Harry felt Snape's skin – hot and glorious – against his own, felt the swell of Snape's cock against his hip and Snape's fingers squeezing his nipple. "Oh fuck!" Then Snape moved downwards and Harry spread his legs hoping that Snape would – _Thank God!_ Snape rolled Harry's balls in his hands as he swallowed Harry whole, sucking and humming. Harry's world narrowed and narrowed until there was only the feeling of Snape's lips and mouth around his cock and –

"Stop, wait!" Snape moved off of him immediately, but before he could ask what was wrong, Harry had pushed himself upright and pulled Snape close, kissing him deeply. He pulled some more, then rolled them until he was on top of Snape. "Accio lube."

As Harry prepared himself, Snape's one hand traced Harry's tingling face, while the other played with his nipple. Harry leant down and kissed him before letting Snape guide him on his cock. Biting his lip, Harry sank down until all of it was inside him. He shared a brief look with Snape, then started moving. Soon Snape was pushing up into him, fucking him hard as his hands pulled Harry down onto him fast. Harry braced himself against the mattress and the headboard, his eyes half closed and his mouth open as their pace increased. Every thrust set off fireworks behind Harry's eyes. Thoughts and speech were gone, leaving only moans and gasps.

In one sudden motion, Snape flipped them again, pushed Harry's legs towards Harry's chest and fucked him almost desperately. Harry gripped Snape's shoulder and pushed his head back further into the pillows as he screamed and came. Two thrusts later, Snape shouted as he climaxed and collapsed on top of Harry.

 

******

  


Hours later, Harry woke up and blinked blearily but with a big smile at Snape, whose shoulder he'd used as a pillow. "How do I look?"

"Acceptable," Snape said and flicked a strand of Harry's hair. "And you're completely visible, too."  


-The End-

  


  



End file.
